


don't blame the movies

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Big Time Adolescence (2020)
Genre: Angst, Canon typical drug use, Comfort, Cuddling, Fluff, Get together fic, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Scary Movies, canon typical underage drinking, four plus one fic, handjobs, homophobic language/slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23448265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Four times Mo looked to Zeke for comfort during a horror movie, and one time Zeke happily distracted Mo from the movie.
Relationships: Kate Harris/Zeke Presanti, Monroe "Mo" Harris/Zeke Presanti
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	don't blame the movies

**Author's Note:**

> this idea came to me in the shower, and honestly this idea turned out...fairly different than I anticipated? but there are some parts of this I really enjoy too much to ever consider reworking. so! it's kind of a mess (imo) but I hope y'all will enjoy it
> 
> big thanks to Hannah for beta'ing, as always!

**_ten years old_ **

“He really shouldn’t be watching this,” Kate says. 

“It’s fine, I watched this when I was his age. It’s no big deal.” Zeke pops open the case and slips the DVD into the player. He snags the remote off the coffee table before falling back onto the couch between Kate and Mo. “He’ll love it, I guarantee it.”

Kate still looks skeptical. Mo knows it’s either watch this or go upstairs and go to bed, so he hurries to say, “It’ll be fine, Kate!” He’s only ten, but he can handle it, he _knows_ this. He grins wide at his sister until she sighs.

“Fine, but if you have nightmares, you _cannot_ tell mom and dad.”

Mo nods eagerly and twists to get comfortable. He ends up kind of leaning on Zeke, but the older boy doesn’t seem to mind. Zeke’s got an arm thrown over Kate’s shoulders and the other is holding the remote, pointed at the television. He skips the trailers and tosses the remote aside once the movie has started. 

Mo can’t help it—he shoots Zeke a grin, and finds him already grinning back.

“You’re gonna love this,” Zeke whispers with a conspiratorial wink.

Mo tries to wink back and he’s not sure if he’s successful or not, but Zeke laughs so it’s a win either way.

Mo watches through his fingers as the Norris-Thing’s head melts and drips from the body. The whole movie has been scary, but this is _gross_ and scary, and Mo’s shaking.

“They did that with like, bubblegum and shit,” Zeke says, delighted. On his other side, Kate makes a faintly retching sound. “It’s sick.” Zeke looks over to Mo, as if for confirmation, but instead murmurs, “Aw, fuck.”

“It’s sick!” Mo hurries to agree, even though his voice waivers. 

“I told you he shouldn’t watch this! _I_ can’t even watch this!” With that, Kate stands up in a huff and hurries to the kitchen. “I need some water.” 

“Kay,” Zeke says absently. “Mo, if you want, we can turn this shit off.”

Mo shakes his head. “No, no, it’s sick!”

“Dude, you’re scared, you don’t gotta sit through this.”

“It’s fine!” Mo doesn’t look at Zeke— _can’t_ , because he feels like such a baby, especially sitting beside seventeen-year-old Zeke. Zeke, who is so cool and who likes scary movies like this. Zeke who isn’t scared by these movies.

“C’mere,” Zeke says as he lifts his arm. Mo finally looks over at him and watches, dazed, as Zeke’s arm falls around his shoulders. Zeke tugs him close. “I’ll protect you, yeah? The thing won’t get you.”

That’s not even really what Mo was worried about, but the words comfort him nonetheless. So does being tucked against Zeke’s side. Mo feels less embarrassed when he has to look away from the screen and can tuck his face against Zeke’s sweatshirt instead. It smells like vodka and stale cigarettes and it’s perfect.

“Okay, that’s cute,” Mo hears Kate admit as she comes back in. “No more scary movies, though.”

“You got it, babe,” Zeke says, his fingers combing through Mo’s hair. 

* * *

**_thirteen years old_ **

“You didn’t have to come,” Zeke says as he passes the teller a twenty. “I see movies by myself all the time, it’s like, the best part of being an adult.” The teller passes back two tickets and Zeke hands one to Mo.

“I wanted to,” Mo says. “What are we seeing again?”

Zeke snorts as they wander over to concessions. “ _Lights Out_ , dude. Looks fucking sick as hell.”

Zeke looks away to peruse the concessions menu so he probably misses the way Mo’s face drains of all color. Mo clears his throat and scuffs his shoe along the red carpeted floor. “Oh.”

“I told you what we were seeing before we left,” Zeke points out, voice aloof but stern. Edging on annoyance but not quite there. Mo writes off the tone because he knows Zeke isn’t really annoyed with him, he’s more annoyed with his current attempt at trying to stop smoking. 

Besides, Mo can’t exactly explain that he sort of zoned out when Zeke told him what movie they’d be seeing. Zeke had been shirtless at the time and Mo...well, Mo got distracted. Zeke always says Mo can come in without knocking, so it’s not the first time Mo’s seen Zeke shirtless. It is the first time he’s seen the other guy shirtless since puberty hit Mo like a freight train, though. Being thirteen is bullshit. 

“Earth to Momo, what you want?” Zeke snaps his fingers in front of Mo’s face.

“Uh, we can just share a popcorn, right? And a soda?”

Zeke shrugs. “Sure, I don’t care.” He relays the order to the cashier before shooting Mo a sideways glance. “You sure you’re good, man? You can just like, pay me back the ten bucks and bail.”

“No, no, I’m good.” Mo takes the popcorn as it’s passed over the counter. “You pick the soda. I’ll go get our seats.”

Zeke squints suspiciously at him. “Alright, man.” 

They go off in opposite directions and Mo finds the best spot he can. The movie is still pretty new, but it’s also early evening on a Tuesday, so the theater isn’t exactly packed. He finds a spot centered and drops into the seat with a sigh. 

“Stupid,” he murmurs to himself before shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

The trailers are about to start when Zeke finally falls into the seat beside Mo. “Last chance,” Zeke murmurs as he sets the drink in the holder and takes the popcorn from Mo. “If you bail now, I won’t make fun of you.”

“Yeah you will,” Mo retorts with an eyeroll.

“Fuck yeah, I will,” Zeke says with a laugh. 

Mo manages not to jump or wince throughout any of the trailers. He doesn’t fair as well once the movie actually starts, because it’s immediately scary as hell. The creature, whatever she is, appearing and disappearing in the light, makes Mo jump every time he spots her. It gets to the point where even during a stretch without jumpscares, Mo’s on edge.

It’s a good thing Zeke’s still holding the popcorn because at one point, Mo jumps bad enough that he nearly upends their drink all over the floor.

“Mo!” Zeke hisses, but he’s not mad. He’s laughing. “Chill out, dude, s’just a movie.” Zeke sets the popcorn in the seat beside them and reaches out a hand to grab Mo’s wrist. 

Mo freezes at the touch. “Sorry,” he whispers.

“S’fine,” Zeke says with another laugh. “You’re so tense, man.” Zeke settles back into his seat and Mo mirrors him. He still can’t relax though, because Zeke hasn’t let go of his wrist. It gets worse, because slowly, Zeke’s hand drifts up to lock fingers with Mo’s. “If you get scared, just squeeze my hand, okay?”

Mo blinks at their interlocked hands, almost invisible in the darkness. “Uh. Okay.” He tests the grip by flexing his fingers and squeezing once. Zeke shoots him a grin and Mo’s finally able to relax in his seat. 

“Jesus, Mo, I think I lost feeling in my hand a couple times,” Zeke teases as they leave the theater. He’s flexing his hand and looking at it as though he could see evidence of Mo’s grip on him.

Mo winces. “Sorry,” he says softly. 

“Hey, man, nah,” Zeke says as he swings an arm over Mo’s shoulders and ruffles his hair. “S’all good. Still a good fucking movie.”

Mo hides his smile by ducking his head. “It wasn’t bad.”

* * *

**_sixteen years old_ **

Mo is stoned. 

He doesn’t _want_ to be stoned, but, well. Sometimes it’s just kind of inevitable with Zeke. It hadn’t even been intentional. It was chilly out so neither he or Zeke thought to roll down the car windows, but Zeke was still smoking because, well, he’s _Zeke_. It was a good thing they had only driven to the corner store a few blocks away and not, like, into the city, because the car quickly became a hotbox and by the time Zeke pulled crookedly into the driveway, he and Mo were both very, very stoned.

So, yeah, Mo is stoned. 

“Dude,” comes Zeke’s distant voice, “you good if I put on a movie?”

Mo nods. He can’t make his mouth work. He can’t make his _thoughts_ work. His head is full, too full, like he’s having a million thoughts and none at the same time. His _lips_ feel heavy, how the fuck does that happen? Mo turns his head as the television blares to life but it feels like he’s moving through molasses.

“Easy,” Zeke says. He sounds a million miles away. He touches Mo’s shoulder and it feels like an electric shock—but Mo is still too sluggish to react. Zeke laughs and it echoes inside Mo’s head. “Your dad is gonna kill me.”

Mo manages another nod but then he can’t stop nodding. Like, that one Newton’s law, or whatever. Constant motion. He laughs, even though it’s not really that funny, and Zeke laughs with him. 

“Help me,” Mo manages to say. He’s even able to lift an arm and slap a hand against Zeke’s arm. “I wanna face the television.” He’s been leaning against the arm of the couch, his stare pointed in the direction of the living room windows. He keeps slapping at Zeke’s arm, and Zeke just gives him an amused look. “Help me,” Mo says again, or at least he thinks he does.

Whether he speaks or not, Zeke _does_ help him. He sticks his hands under Mo’s armpits and hauls him to sit differently on the couch. Mo blinks at the television but he can’t quite make sense of what’s happening. 

“S’cuz it’s just the disc menu,” Zeke snorts, so Mo must’ve spoken aloud. “Your dad is gonna totally murder me. Like, cut up the body and ditch the pieces in the woods murder.”

Mo giggles and Zeke shoves playfully at his head. Mo’s suddenly tired, his whole body exhausted, so he goes with the force of the push and ends up laying sideways on the couch. If anything, the television makes _more_ sense now.

“You wanna sit up?”

Mo shakes his head and Zeke only laughs again. 

Mo’s sobering up slightly right as someone gets cut in half on the screen. He doesn’t know when he sat up and he doesn’t know what they’re watching and he doesn’t know where Zeke is. All he knows is his head is still too foggy and his body aches from sitting funny and _someone just got cut in half on the screen_.

Mo cries. He doesn’t even really know _why_ , he just _does_. He cries suddenly and cries _hard_. Shoulders shaking, chest heaving, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. A shadow looms over him suddenly and he starts to shriek, until a palm slaps over his mouth.

“What the fuck, Momo?” Zeke says as he drops to a crouch in front of Mo. He only pulls his hand back after a moment—once he’s sure Mo won’t keep screaming, probably. “What the fuck, dude?”

“I, I don’t know,” Mo rasps. He hasn’t spoken in...well, it feels like years, but was probably just an hour. “I just, I saw the television, and, my head, and, I don’t know.” Embarrassment wells up in him like a tidal wave set to come crashing down.

“Aw, fuck, Mo.” Zeke takes him by the shoulders, a gentle and comforting touch. He squeezes and Mo shivers. “I put in another movie cuz I figured you were still flying high.” 

“I am,” Mo says, because he’s definitely not fully sober.

“Yeah, but not as much as you _were_.” Zeke grins. “My bad, man. This one is kind of intense.” He twists away from Mo and turns off the television with a remote from the table. He turns back to Mo and brushes at his cheeks. “You good?” 

Mo gulps and nods. Weed may make his head foggy but his tongue feels loose and he babbles a little. “Sorry I’m such a...such a sissy, about these movies.”

Zeke shrugs. “Doesn’t bother me.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Nah, man.” Zeke shakes his head. “I love ‘em, but I know they’re not for everyone. C’mon, you’re probably thirsty as fuck.”

Zeke stands and holds out a hand to help Mo. He’s right, too; Mo realizes his mouth feels dry like sandpaper and he gags slightly. Zeke snorts but guides Mo to the kitchen with a hand on his back. 

“I like watching horror movies with you,” Mo admits as Zeke gets him a glass of water. 

Zeke falters with the glass and some of it sloshes onto the floor. Not like it matters, far worse things have ended up on this floor. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Mo nods. He’s still too high to go home. Now he’s mostly tired, kind of wants to nap forever, and hopefully his head will be clear when he wakes up. He opens his eyes again when there’s a cool touch to his bottom lip—the glass of water. “It’s fun,” Mo says after a sip.

“Alright,” Zeke says. He sounds faint, but Mo thinks that might just be the high. “Hey, why don’t you sleep off the high in the bedroom, n’then I’ll take you home, kay?”

Mo nods and Zeke guides him to the bedroom even though it’s less than five feet away. He takes the glass from Mo and sets it on the bedside table; he even lifts the covers for Mo to fall under. “Promise you don’t think I’m lame?”

“I don’t think you’re lame,” Zeke says. His hand rests on Mo’s head, gentle in his hair. “Not even close, Momo.”

“Cool.”

* * *

**_nineteen years old_ **

It’s kind of loud to be playing a movie right now, given that Zeke is throwing some half-assed house party, but that doesn’t mean Mo is any less scared. Even surrounded by people—Zeke at his right, Nick at his left, and a dozen other people milling about the living room—Mo can’t tear his eyes away from the screen. Zeke has chosen _Saw_ of all things, because he’s sick and sadistic.

(Not really, but Mo is a little drunk and a lot bitter. Tonight was just supposed to be him and Zeke, and of course, it’s not. Mo should’ve known better than to think Zeke would ever change. Sure, the three months after getting expelled had sucked without Zeke, but Mo isn’t so sure this is better.) 

Mo lasts through most of the movie surviving on minor winces and startles—Nick laughing at him every time—until Lawrence starts trying to saw off his own foot. Mo just can’t handle it, so he does what he did when he was ten: he turns and tucks himself against Zeke’s side.

Except, this time, instead of Zeke’s hand landing in his hair to comfort him, Zeke stiffens against him. Sure, their friendship is still a little rocky at times, but their physicality never really suffered. Handshakes and bro-hugs and casual touches like fucking with each other’s hair or playfully shoving each other. Mo would’ve thought this was fine, too. 

Zeke doesn’t move away and he doesn’t push Mo away. He doesn’t really do _anything_. For now, Mo can’t bring himself to care too much, because a quick glance at the television tells him the sawing is still happening. So he hides his face against Zeke’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

Someone across the room cackles and at first, Mo doesn’t think it’s about them, until the guy says, “Aw, is the little queer scared? You gonna protect your little faggot boyfriend, Zeke?”

It’s like someone’s dumped a bucket of ice water down Mo’s back. He doesn’t move, because he doesn’t really know what to do. In the past, when people would give them shit over his and Zeke’s friendship, Zeke would always have a snappy comeback to lob back at them.

He doesn’t this time. His hand finally lands on Mo, but it’s at the collar of his shirt to tug him away. Mo goes willingly and pointedly keeps his gaze turned away from the television. 

“Fuck off,” Zeke hollers back before standing up and storming out of the house.

Mo ends up leaning against Nick a bit and once he realizes their arms are touching, he scoots to the empty space left by Zeke leaving. A hush has fallen over the party, and everyone is looking at Mo. Or at least, it feels that way. Mo ducks his head and hurries out of the house, too.

Zeke’s standing outside on the porch, lighting up a joint. Mo doesn’t even bother stopping as he makes a beeline for his car. He gets as far as digging his keys out of his pocket when a hand around his elbow stops him.

“Get off me,” Mo spits at Zeke.

“Dude, no, you cannot drive right now.”

“I’m fine. It’s not that far.”

“Like I’m gonna let you wrap your car around a pole. I don’t give a fuck how far it is, it’s too far to drive while you’re drunk, Mo.”

“Like you care!” Mo shouts. Across the street, someone’s porch light flicks on, probably so they can see what all the commotion is about. “I’m _nineteen_ , Zeke. You’re fucking twenty-six! You’re still throwing stupid fucking house parties and letting people shit talk you in your own house and getting underage kids drunk!” 

“You haven’t cared before,” Zeke says quietly. “You like gettin’ drunk here.”

Mo does. He actually really does, because he knows Zeke will keep him safe. “I’m too drunk to have this conversation,” he tries, turning back to his car only to be spun around and pinned against the car door. “Zeke.”

“What’s this really about, Mo? Cuz you don’t give a fuck if I drink and smoke, and you don’t give a shit when I pass you a beer or some booze. So what’s your real fucking problem, Momo?” 

Mo doesn’t even think (he’s so _sick_ of thinking, honestly). He just goes up on his toes and kisses Zeke. Their noses knock together at first and then there’s a hand cupping his jaw to tilt him ever so slightly. Their lips slot together easily, seamlessly, and Zeke’s tongue teases along Mo’s bottom lip. Mo whines before opening his mouth. Zeke presses him against the car, abrupt and hard. The car shakes slightly, and Mo clutches his hands in Zeke’s shirt.

“Why,” Mo gasps as the kiss breaks. Zeke doesn’t go far. His eyes are dilated and focused on Mo’s lips in a way that’s invigorating, distracting. “Why didn’t you fucking deck that guy in there?”

“Who, Robbie? He’s just some asshole, man, he’s not worth the split knuckles.” Zeke kisses him again and Mo loses himself in it for a few minutes.

“Why’d you storm out, then?” Mo asks in a voice that’s impossibly small. He can feel Zeke’s cock against his hip, getting hard. 

“Because I’ve wanted to fucking kiss you since you were fifteen god damn years old, and if I didn’t leave, I was gonna do it in there in front of all those dickheads.” Zeke’s voice comes out as a growl and Mo’s knees go a little weak. 

“Oh,” Mo breathes. He loops his arms around Zeke’s neck. 

“Yeah, oh,” Zeke murmurs back. “We good?”

“We good,” Mo agrees before stealing another kiss. 

* * *

_**twenty-two years old** _

“Fuck you,’’ Mo whines as he sinks lower on the couch. 

“I told you, we didn’t have to watch this!” 

“It’s your fucking birthday!” Mo laughs. “I’m not gonna say no to you on your birthday. You're _almost_ thirty, dude, that's a big deal!”

Zeke grins. The flimsy ‘birthday boy’ hat from the dollar store sits lopsided on his head. “You’re too good for me, babe.”

Mo rolls his eyes just as someone on screen screams. He slaps his hands over his face but grins when Zeke’s arm around his shoulder tugs him closer. “You have shitty taste in movies.”

“I have excellent taste in movies, fuck you,” Zeke retorts. “You’re really gonna hate me when I tell you I’ve seen this one before.”

“What?!” Mo drops his hands from his face to glare at his boyfriend. “This one is brand new!”

“That’s what torrenting is for.” Zeke’s grin widens. 

“Ugh,” Mo says, “so I really have no one to blame but myself, for this.”

“Kinda,” Zeke agrees. “I still appreciate the thought, though. It’s a good one, for sure.”

Blood splatters across the wall on screen as another shriek rings out. “A good one,” Mo echoes, “totally.”

Zeke ducks his head and presses a kiss to the side of Mo’s neck. He peppers kisses up to Mo’s jawline and then his ear. “What if I distracted you, huh?”

Mo shivers even though he’s almost too warm with Zeke’s arm around him and a blanket over their laps. “Yeah? How would you do that?”

Zeke nips at his ear before pushing Mo gently to lay across the couch. He slots himself between Mo’s legs easily, shoving the blanket to the floor so there’s nothing between them but their clothes. “Eyes on me,” Zeke says as he reaches between their bodies to cup Mo through his sweats. 

Mo grins, gasping, and bucks his hips into the touch. “I told you, I like watching horror movies with you.” 

Zeke snickers against his cheek before pressing a wet kiss there. “You just like the handjobs.”

“Yeah,” Mo says, shuddering as Zeke’s hand slips inside his sweats. “They’re a definite perk.” 

“Duh, why do you think I watch them so much?” Zeke starts to stroke and Mo’s snappy response is lost in a moan. “You’re so cute when you’re scared.”

“Fuck you,” Mo manages to rasp. 

“Maybe later,” Zeke agrees. “No bullshit, though, you’re so fucking cute when you’re spooked.” 

Mo slaps at Zeke’s shoulder but fucks into the circle of his first anyway. “Is that why you always put them on when we were younger?”

A blush splatters over Zeke’s face, abrupt and splotchy. “Maybe,” he says before dipping down to kiss any response right from Mo’s lips. “Shut up and come for me, babe,” he mutters as he bites at Mo’s bottom lip. 

Mo whines. “Yeah, okay.” Zeke’s hand speeds up and Mo’s really going to take no time at all. He ruts into his boyfriend’s touch and ignores the gruesome sounds coming from the television and thinks back to all those times before. On the couch at Zeke’s, seeing a movie in the theater, going to the drive-in, Mo always getting scared and Zeke always being there for him. All because Zeke thought he was _cute_ when he was scared. 

“Fuck, Mo,” Zeke grunts as he works his own hips against Mo’s ass. There are too many layers between them for Zeke to get off but the feeling of his cock against Mo’s ass is enough to tip Mo over the edge. 

He comes and thinks, a little hysterically, _maybe horror movies aren’t so bad._

**Author's Note:**

> it's up to you whether the 'sixteen' scene takes place before/during the movie or after, I couldn't decide lol


End file.
